


18,000 Seconds.

by CountlessUntruths (KaliCephirot)



Category: Half Life Trilogy - Sally Green
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, One sided nabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliCephirot/pseuds/CountlessUntruths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the hours when Nathan is down in that cellar, Gabriel waits as well. Tic-toc, goes the clock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	18,000 Seconds.

There’s an old grandfather clock in the living room. On itself, it’s nothing unusual: the castle we’re staying at has this whole decor set full of antique furniture, lavish rugs, expensive art on the walls. It’s rather nice: nicer than anywhere I have ever been, and I loved watching Nathan’s face as he stared at some of the paintings. Oh, his _face_ when he stood in front of what I _think_ might have even been a real life Chagall… I would have given money I’ll never have for a picture of his expression right then. Made me wish I knew more about modernists so I could tell him about them.

So, the fact that there’s an old grandfather clock, kept in pristine conditions, would be no worthy of mention, except for this.

It’s working. Tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc.

Which, again! Is what one would expect of such a thing, of such a place! A clock ticking away second after second shouldn’t be a thing. 

Nathan has been locked inside the wine cellar for 14,953 tic-tocs of that fucking clock. 

The first two hours were the easiest. There was quiet then. Nesbitt went in and out and when I asked how Nathan was, he gave his usual grin and shrugged. ‘Just peachy, Gabby! Like a walk down the park!‘ which I didn’t believe for a second but I wanted to believe that with it being a new moon, it’d be easier. So I sat down again and tried to read the book I had in my hands, which I hadn’t been able to even turn one page of, while Van sat on the couch playing solitaire and Nesbitt cleaned his gun. The second hour, when he came back, Nesbitt looked a little worried, but he still smiled and shrugged again, telling me not to worry.

The screaming started a little after the third hour, after Nesbitt had already come back up. He had to stop me from going inside.

“He sounds like he’s dying!” I screamed at him.

“He’s not, don’t worry about it!“ I cursed at him.

“Gabriel,“ I didn’t quite stop fighting Nesbitt, but I did pause a bit, to hear Van. “Do you want to ruin Nathan’s sacrifice?” Van asked. “He’s doing this for you.”

I didn’t curse her out loud, but I thought it, very strongly, in my head. But I let Nesbitt push me, guiding me back to the living room and to the tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc of the clock.

After the fourht hour, when Nesbitt came back, he simply  shook his head. Nathan was still screaming and cursing as if he was being burned alive, as if he was being hurt and the fact that he’s doing it to help me makes it unbearable. It’s almost as if I’m the one hurting _him_.

So when I reach 18,000 seconds, I’ve had enough. I stand up before Nesbitt does and go to the cellar, reaching for the keys to open the door.

“Gabriel,“ Van says, and this time I will curse her if she tries to stop me. 

But instead she looks at me. “Two more hours.“

I just nod. There’s a part of me that thinks of what we’ve heard of Saba, of what happened when she was locked inside. But all that gets lost when I see Nathan, writhing on the floor, trying to claw open his own throat.

I curse out loud, leap the steps that I was missing and I run to him.

“Nathan, stop! Nathan, stop, it’s alright, you’re alright!“ But he doesn’t seem able to hear me.

I have to fight him, the strength of his arms, to pull his hands away from his throat, crossing his arms around his own chest, pinning his trashing legs with the weight of mine. Nathan is shivering in my arms, soaking with his own sweat. With his own tears.

“It’s nearly over. Nearly over,“ I tell him, not knowing if it helps at all. I keep saying it, and his name, and promising that it’s alright for the two hours we’ve still got left until the sounds lose its meaning to me. All that matters is the beautiful, wounded, proud boy I’m holding in my arms that I love more than anything. 

I only know it’s dawn because suddenly, his tense body deflates against mine. 

“It’s dawn,“ his voice sounds rough and so relieved. Slowly I let him go, wishing I had had the forethought of bringing water with me. 

Nathan wipes his face with his sleeve, and I still see him shivering a bit, licking his dry, red-bitten lips.

“If that’s the gradual, less intense method…“ he says in this tone which he sometimes, almost never, uses, when he tries (and, if I’m being honest, fails) to be funny, but he pauses. He looks at his own hand as if he had never seen it, then turns to look around the room, the floor and when he turns to look at me– _oh_.

His face when he looks at me is the same he made when he looked at the Chagall. All this wonder and soft openness and warmth and I love him so much, so, so much that it might just kill me, this love. 

“I can see something in your eyes. I’ve never noticed it before. Hardly there. Twists of gold but far back and distant. Things witches have.” 

And what can I say to that? To this relief to know that the me I was hasn’t been completely lost, that I can still be me, that maybe, maybe, maybe?

My life is made of maybes.

So instead I hold his hand and squeeze gently and I smile at him. Hoping. Maybe even praying. 

Maybe.

“Let’s go outside."


End file.
